The Ancient Grudge
by Firestar385
Summary: Some Men in Middle Earth still hold a grudge against the Elves. They don’t like it that their Queen is an Elf, and that their King was raised in Rivendell. So, they have planned his overthrow, and will use Aragorn’s only son as a bargining tool.
1. Chapter One

Hey Everyone! Here is my first story for ff.net, but not the first I have written. You can see more of my fanfiction at my website, which is linked to on my author page.

**Story Title**: The Ancient Grudge

**Rating**: R (though the first few chapters will be PG)

**Warnings**: I'll let you know if any come up.

**Summary**: Some Men in Middle Earth still hold a grudge against the Elves. They don't like it that their Queen is an Elf, and that their King was raised in Rivendell, despite him being the heir of Isildur. So, they have planned his overthrow, and will use Aragorn's only son as a bargaining tool.

**Disclaimer**: All of the characters mentioned in the story belong to J.R.R Tolkien and I make no money from this fiction. Original characters belong to me, as does the story plot. Any likeness to another story is purely coincidental and if something too greatly resembles another's work for your comfort, please let me know and I will gladly look into fixing the problem.  

[A/N 1] I am going to assume a background knowledge of Middle Earth and its characters, and a (very) limited Sindarin vocabulary. It is my goal to keep as close to cannon as possible, but there will be some deviation from Tolkien's script, of course. If I allude to something that I feel is not common knowledge, then I will footnote it, but footnotes will be rare. I hope you enjoy and if there is something you are unsure of, please make note of it in a review. And on that note, please R&R. 

[A/N 2] The reference materials I use mostly are The Silmarillion and the Appendices in Return of the King, both by J.R.R. Tolkien (in case anyone cared).

[A/N 3] Aragorn is mentioned as having Eldarion and many daughters. I took the liberty of naming some of his many daughters. 

**-- CHAPTER ONE --**

Eldarion, son of Aragorn, peeked around the corner of the wall, hidden behind a thick red tapestry that decorated the throne room. His father and mother did not yet think he was old enough to be bothered by the affairs of ruling a kingdom, but the ten year old thought differently. He had seen Aragorn handle the affairs of Gondor plenty of times, and it truly didn't look that hard. And Eldarion had heard the stories of the Great War of the Ring; if Aragorn could face RingWraiths and Orcs, and Saruman, then Eldarion could handle a few angry peasants. If the ease he took in escaping his nanny were evidence enough, he was more than ready to trade words with common peasants. 

However, this time King Elessar was not arguing with one of his advisors or trying to be diplomatic with a townsman. Instead, he was greeting two of his best friends. Eldarion knew the elf, for it was Legolas, one of the members of the Fellowship of the Ring. A wide grin spread across the boy's face. Legolas was known to him and his sisters as a playful companion who usually had a treat or game for them to play. Eldarion loved it when Legolas came to visit. 

Next to the elf was Gimli the dwarf, who Eldarion had seen before and heard many stories about, mostly from his father and Legolas, but had not gotten to know very well personally. Gimli typically did not want to spend time in the nursery playing with dolls or wooden soldiers, as he had infinitively less patience than Legolas. On the other hand, he seemed to have formed a rather close bond with Shalay, one of his younger sisters. She had taken a liking to his collection of sparkling gems, and anyone who enjoyed the treasures of Arda as much as Gimli was a friend to the dwarves. Eldarion himself had a small green gem carved into the shape of a oval, with white _mithril_ embedded into it in the shape of the White Tree of Gondor, and the seven stars which it laid under. The whole jewel was set in gold, and was so small it could easily fit in the palm of his closed hand. The gift was from Gimli for his eighth birthday, and Eldarion treasured it more because it was a gift from one of his father's finest friends than because it was worth a kingdom in riches. 

Eldarion grew tired of waiting for the formalities to end, as he wanted to steal Legolas away on his own, and show the elf the new pond he had discovered on the outskirts of the Minas Tirith, where there were interesting purple flowers and toads that were are big as his fist. He shifted slightly, disturbing the tapestry he hid behind. The movement was barely enough to alert anyone to his presence, but suddenly Eldarion found his eyes locked with the deep blue of the elf's. The corners of Legolas' mouth curved upwards when he recognized the unruly dark brown curls and the bright gray eyes of Aragorn's heir. Legolas gave the boy a quick wink and then turned back to look at Aragorn, who was speaking to him about the upcoming fair the people of Minas Tirith were holding. Eldarion grinned and then melted back into the tapestry, left the throne room, and made his way towards the guest quarters. 

Only fifteen minutes had elapsed before Eldarion heard the sound of soft footsteps on the hard stone floors. Eldarion looked up excitedly, but was disappointed to see it was his sister, Almia, who was only two years younger than him. She spotted him sitting in the rooms that already held Legolas' belongings, and with a frown, she entered the room. "Eldarion," she tsked. "You should not wait in a guest's room."

"Be quiet," Eldarion snapped at her, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am going to show Legolas my pond with the toads." Almia's face screwed up in disgust. 

"Why would such a fine elf like Legolas want anything to do with your stupid gross toads?"

"He will!" Eldarion insisted. "You are just a silly girl and don't know what is entertaining to a man."

  


"Think about it, Eldarion," Almia said sourly. "Legolas traveled with _Ada_ in the Fellowship, he fought in the Great War of the Ring, and he is a prince of Elves. What could he possibly find entertaining to do with a scrawny little boy?"

"There is much that this scrawny little boy can show me that is interesting," came a third voice, and both siblings looked up in shock and dismay at the guest in question. 

"Lord Legolas!" Almia cried, and quickly tried to curtsey. Legolas bowed slightly in return, an amused smirk on his face. Almia saw this and blushed furiously, for it was not unknown that her eight year old heart had set itself on her father's fair friend. Eldarion rolled his eyes. 

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Almia," Legolas smiled. "I do beg your leave though, as I fear I have prior obligations to attend to. There seems to be a pond with toads in it that requires my inspection."

"Yes Milord," she blushed again. Eldarion stuck his tongue out at her and then skipped forward, grabbing Legolas' hand and nearly dragging him down the hall. 

"Come now," Eldarion said happily. "We shall not be bothered by silly little maidens anymore." He tried to sound more mature than his sister. 

"I am grateful for your protection, my liege," Legolas replied with a short laugh.

"You are very welcome, and my name is Eldarion, not liege."

"Of course," Legolas nodded. "Now tell me, Eldarion, where is this pond of yours?"

"Not too far, yet far enough away that pesky maidens and nurses won't come bothering us."

"That is well." Eldarion led the way down the winding halls of the castle until they reached the outdoors through a small, concealed door in the back of his mother's garden. Easily he navigated through the maze of plants, stone benches, and trees until they reached the gate on the far side that let out into the city of Minas Tirith. Legolas knew that the royal children were not permitted to leave the palace grounds unattended, and though Eldarion now had an escort, it was obvious he had left without one before, as he made his way through the city without hesitation. Soon, they were out of the busy part of town, and heading towards the light woods that bordered the white city. 

"How did you find this secret pond?" Legolas asked curiously. 

"I have a bit of elf in me, myself, Legolas," Eldarion said confidently. "I simply smelt the water."

"Oh, I see," Legolas replied, trying to sound impressed. He found the young prince's antics quite amusing. However, no more than five steps into the forest, Legolas could also smell the 'water' and it was no wonder that the boy had found the pond. It smelled putrid! Though Legolas' keen elven senses already smelled the tiny body of water, it would not be long until even a human with no elf in his blood could smell the stink of muck and decay. 

"Ah, there it is!" Eldarion exclaimed, taking a deep breath. "Can you not smell it, too?"

  


"Yes, now that you mention it, I can. You truly do have the wits of an elf about you, Eldarion," Legolas praised him, thinking that it would not hurt to boost the child's self-confidence. Therefore, he did not mention that he had started smelling the pond a dozen fathoms ago. Eldarion grinned broadly at the elf's kudos, and then resumed tramping through the woods in a manner that Legolas noticed was most un-elflike. 

They reached the pond, and for all of Legolas' misgivings about the smell, in actuality, it was a rather cozy little clearing. The pond water, murky brown, was decorated with shiny green lily pads and a few pink flowers. A small ring of dirt circled the pond, and beyond that was think, soft grass that formed a natural blanket over the ground. 

"What do you think?" Eldarion asked, moving to the edge of his pond and dropping to his knees. 

"It is one of the most exquisite ponds I have ever come across," Legolas answered, kneeling down as well, yet further away from the stink of the water. Eldarion poked around the edge of the pond near a large bush. 

"This bush used to have beautiful flowers, but now they are gone," he sighed, his gray eyes searching for any remainders. Legolas eyed the bush in question, and then stood, walking over to where Eldarion was standing. 

"That is because the flowers have turned into wonderful ripe blueberries," the elf explained. He lifted up a branch to reveal a bundle of little bluish-purple berries. He picked a few off of the bush and popped them into his mouth. "They are very sweet, Eldarion. You should try some." The youth, always looking for adventure and new experiences, grabbed a handful and shoved the whole lot into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and then his eyes lit up. 

"Very good," he smiled, reaching for more. Thinking quickly, he pulled his over tunic off and used it as a makeshift sack to carry more of the delicious fruit in. However, more seemed to go into his mouth than his tunic. Legolas laughed and picked his own, adding them to Eldarion's stash and not his own stomach. Once the human child was content with the number of blueberries he had picked, he toted his stash back over to the grassy bank at the edge of the pond. There he plopped down and laid his berries next to him so he could eat them while inspecting the shallow waters of the pond. Legolas sat beside him, eating a berry every once in a while, and listening to the contented murmuring of the trees and plants. Eldarion didn't find any toads this time, much to his disappointment. 

"Perhaps they are in their mating season," Legolas suggested. "Next summer, there should be even more toads for you to catch."

"I suppose you are right," Eldarion sighed. He watched the elf remove his bow and quiver and set them on the ground next to him so he could recline on the soft grass and watched the clouds move behind the canopy of tree leaves. Popping a few more blueberries in his mouth, Eldarion made his way over to Legolas' side, reaching for the bow that was longer than he was tall. He stood and held the bow like his father had shown him, but could barely pull the string back. Legolas watched him carefully, both protective of his bow that was a gift from Galadriel, and the boy who was his best friend's son. Finally, giving up in frustration, Eldarion set the bow back down and reached for his berries. He took a seat next to the elf, unmindful of the blueberry juice that stained his shirt, face, and hands. Legolas, however, noticed when one sticky hand came to rest on his stomach, leaving a child sized blue hand print on the dark green fabric. 

"You are a mess, Eldarion," Legolas laughed. The boy just shrugged and smiled, resting his arms on the elf's chest so he could see into his companion's sparkling blue eyes. 

"Tell me about the Fellowship, Legolas," Eldarion requested. He ran a small hand through his unruly black curls, leaving a streak of blueberry dye on his forehead. 

"Has not your _adar_ told you the tales?" Legolas asked, placing his arms behind his head as a sort of pillow. 

"He leaves out all the good parts," Eldarion complained. "All he talks about is how much he missed _Naneth_."

"And what do you consider to be the good parts, young prince?" Legolas inquired, barely restraining a laugh. 

"The Orcs and the Uruk-hai and the Wargs!" Eldarion exclaimed, his gray eyes flashing with excitement. 

"Really?"

"Yes. I wish I could have been there. I would have sliced quite a few of the dirty beasts!"

"I'm sure that your help would have been a great contribution," Legolas told him, and Eldarion beamed. "So you want to hear about the Fellowship, with all the good parts left in?"

"Yes please," Eldarion answered. He shifted slightly, resting his head on his arms, still reclining against the elf's chest, and stared into the face of his friend. Legolas took a deep breath to collect his thoughts and then started to tell the story as he remembered it. 

The afternoon wore on, and soon Eldarion, exhausted from the excitement of seeing the elf and traipsing through the woods, fell into a deep slumber under the warmth of the sun and the shade of the trees, protected by the elf. Legolas noticed his sleep as the Fellowship reached the start of Moria, and smiled softly. He gently brushed a few dirty curls away from the boy's soft forehead, and then laid back himself, letting himself become immersed in Ilúvatar's song. One hand rested protectively on the boy's right arm.

_tbc…_


	2. Chapter Two

For story stats, please see Chapter One.

Once again, I don't own anything here except my original characters and the plot.

**-- CHAPTER TWO --**

"Estel, darling," Arwen called, gaining her husband's attention. She walked into their private chambers where he was changing into dark leggings and one of his old leather shirts from being a ranger. "Where are you going?"

"Call me Strider, my fair one," Aragorn laughed, pecking her softly on the lips. 

"I shall call you my Elfstone, _meleth nín_, but you did not answer my question."

"I feel the call of the wild, my dearest."

"How is it that I am the elf, yet 'tis you who always feels the call of the wild, Estel?" Arwen asked with a questioning smirk. 

"I know not, _meleth_. Perhaps you block it?"

"I do no such thing," Arwen scolded him, but she laughed afterwards. "Shall I be cliché?"

"Please don't."

"Too bad. I should say, it is true what they say, that you can take the ranger out of the wild, but you cannot take the wild out of a King." She gently rubbed her belly where a new miracle was growing, but still to young to show in its mother's stomach. As a mother, Arwen knew it was there. 

"Who says that?" Aragorn questioned, tightening the straps on his boots. 

"They do," Arwen replied mysteriously. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. 

"Probably one of those roguish twin brothers of yours."

"Perhaps, but perhaps not." Aragorn shook his head and stood up straight, adjusting slightly so the clothes fell comfortably across his shoulders and hips. 

"How do I look?"

"Like a dirty old ranger," Arwen teased.

"It was the dirty old ranger you feel in love with, _bain nín_," Aragorn reminded her. 

"Of course it was, Estel," she grinned, lifting herself up so she could press her lips against her husband's. He tried to deepen the kiss but she pulled away. "I thought you were plagued by the call of the wild?"

"It is still there, but so much stronger is the call of your love." Arwen was about to reply when they were interrupted by the children's nursemaid. 

"Milord," she bowed slightly. "Prince Eldarion's missin'!" She wrung her hands nervously as the King and Queen exchanged looks. 

"Where has he gone to?"

"I know not, m'Lady. No offense, please m'Lady, but t'was tha shifty elf tha took 'im, right out o' the nurs'ry. I was tendin' ta Shalay, and when I turned back, 'e was gone!"

"Who, Legolas?" Arwen asked. "He is perfectly safe, Tiri, he would not hurt Eldarion."

"I jus' can no' trust the elves, m'Lady," Tiri bowed. "I mean no dis'spect."

"It is okay, though I wish there was a way to appease the minds of the people," Arwen sighed, looking pointedly at her husband.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed. "The first step shall be to retrieve Eldarion and prove that spending an extended afternoon with an elf has done him no ill."

"He has be'n talkin' lots about a pond, Milord. Out o' the gard'n, I think."

"Thank you. I'll go search for them," Aragorn nodded. "You are dismissed."

"Thank ye, Milord," Tiri bowed, and then left the room to look after the royal couple's remaining children.

"I suppose I should go find Gimli, for he would like to take a short tramp as well," Aragorn said.

"You know I dislike it when you use the word 'tramp' to describe a walk in the forest," Arwen accused him. 

"Yes, I know. I will try not to tramp anything too dear to your heart." Arwen smacked him playfully and then shoved him out of their chambers so that she could change into her sleeping gown in peace. Aragorn made his way towards the guest quarters to find his friend Gimli. 

*   

King Elessar hushed his companions as they neared the clearing. Gimli, the dwarf, was not too keen on ceasing his complaints about the nuisances of the elves, but he was glad he held his tongue as they entered the small clearing next to a fairly awful smelling pond. He felt Faramir, Elessar's steward and the prince of Ithilien, step up behind him. 

About a fathom away, undisturbed by the presence of three new-comers, lay the current object of Gimli's rants and the king's wayward son. Legolas laid on his back, one arm bent behind his head as a sort of pillow, his weapons cast aside neatly to his left. Eldarion, having shifted during his sleep, now laid with his head resting on Legolas' strong chest. One of his arms was wrapped around Legolas' side, and his other hand was gently clutching the silver fabric of Legolas' undershirt where it peaked out from under his tunic. His knees were drawn up to his chest, and stained with something purple. One of Legolas' pale slender hands rested on the boy's back, while the other still rested protectively on his right arm. 

"So this is what the elf does while the rest of us labor tirelessly," Gimli commented. "Lay around near stinking ponds and eat... what?"

"Blueberries," Faramir replied, palming a few of the ones uncrushed by Eldarion. "Good ones, too," he said, after popping them into his mouth. 

"Arwen will love this," Aragorn grinned as he knelt next to the sleeping boy and elf. He held up one of Eldarion's good tunics, now stained beyond repair with the berry juice. 

"Bah, that's what little boys do," Gimli grinned. "Let me assure you that dwarf lads get into worse stuff that berries."

"Have you an instance to share with us, Master Dwarf?" Faramir asked with a laugh. 

"I'm sure he has many, but they will have to wait until we return to the castle. The day grows old and I'd rather not be out in the city when darkness falls," Aragorn interrupted. He leaned over to look into Legolas' clouded blue eyes. "Is this how you watch over my son, _mellon nín_?" he asked. 

"With the noise the three of you make, I am sure no foul-minded creature would venture within ten leagues of us," Legolas replied, his eyes never shifting from their blank stare. Aragorn smirked. 

"That may be true, but it is also true that the day draws to a close and we should return before Arwen worries about her missing son." Legolas blinked to regain his vision. Gently, Aragorn nudged Eldarion until his tried gray eyes open to look blearily at his father. 

"_Ada_?" he yawned, unwilling to give up his comfortable position. 

"It is time to return, Eldi," Aragorn said softly. He grasped the small human under his arms and lifted him up, cradling him in his arms. Eldarion wrapped his legs around his father's waist and his arms around Aragorn's neck, resting his heavy head on the man's shoulder. 

"How nice it must be to be that small," Faramir smiled, collecting Eldarion's tunic. After Legolas had stood and gathered his things, the group started making their way back towards the castle.  

"It is like being with the hobbits all over again, yet I doubt he eats as much," Gimli added. 

"Nay, you might be surprised, Master Dwarf," Legolas argued. "He consumed an immeasurable amount of berries."

"You'll make him sick, Legolas, feeding him all those berries."

"Nonsense," Legolas waved his hand, dismissing the idea. "Blueberries do not make one ill."

"Perhaps not an elf, but they give little boys the runs," Aragorn argued.

"The what?" Legolas looked slightly confused. 

"Never mind," Faramir chuckled. "'Tis not something I think you want to be informed of."

"I care not," Legolas insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Look at you," Aragorn inserted, trying to change the subject. He shifted Eldarion so he held him in one arm and reached with the free one to inspect a dark spot on Legolas' tunic. It seemed to be in the shape of a small hand print. Legolas looked down and grimaced. 

"Yes, that would be the doing of your son," he said. Aragorn laughed. By this time they had reached the busy part of town, which was still bustling with activity even as Arien left the sky and Tilion[1] began his passing. The small group quickly made their way through the streets towards the secret entrance to the castle that Aragorn, Gimli, and Faramir had used to exit the palace as they started to seek the two princes. 

None of the four noticed the dark eyes watching their progress from under a dark hood, though both Aragorn and Legolas sensed the cold glare upon their backs.

_tbc…_

[1] From The Silmarillion. Two Maiar guide the days and nights; Arien, the sun and Tilion, the moon.


	3. Chapter Three

Here is Chapter Three. For story stats, see Chapter One. I still don't own anything but my original characters and the plot.

Thank you Air Druggy for reviewing my first two chapters.

[A/N] I don't know the exact fears of the Elves that Men had, but the Hobbits thought Galadriel knew magic, so I am assuming that Men thought she did, too. 

**-- CHAPTER THREE --**

Narndil, son of Narnsel, sat before the smoldering fire in his small, dirty home on the outskirts of Minas Tirith. The fire seemed to dance for him as he glared into its depths, his black eyes mirrors that reflected the fire's strength. Dark hair framed his taunt face, making his pointed nose seem to stick out even further. His thin lips were pursed together in a straight line, evidence of his strain as he scribbled on the numerous sheets of paper that fluttered around the room. A few of the unlucky sheets had found themselves crumpled and tossed into the fire, feeding its fury and filling the room with thick smoke.

Narndil moved for the first time in nearly half an hour, to pick up one of the sheets, only to fall back into his previous slump. This time his dark eyes reflected his own handwriting as he detailed the arrangements that would lead to his being instated as Steward of Gondor. He would not take the position of King, though he would still rule all of the lands. No, to be King would bring upon him the hate of many who adored Elessar. Let Telberth claim the throne and face the wrath of the free peoples of Gondor. Narndil would simply rule through him. 

The most concerning problem facing his plan was that Elessar was greatly loved by his people. Who wouldn't love the man who single-handedly defeated Saruman and helped destroy the One Ring? The man who had brought peace and prosperity to the land. The man who made it a point to know each of his soldiers by name, and something about them as well. Yes, Elessar would be a tough king to follow, but Narndil had one thing that Elessar didn't, and that was a proper upbringing. 

Elessar had been raised in Rivendell by the elves. Particularly, by Elrond, who had fought in the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, and had been with Isildur when he brought about his own downfall. Elessar also had married Elrond's daughter, a bewitching beauty who could probably turn a man into a newt with her icy stare alone. Finally, Elessar kept close confidence with an elf and a dwarf, both unnatural creatures who were more than likely trying to claim a piece of Gondor for their own. 

Narndil smiled darkly. It was well known that the people of Gondor feared the elves. Strange, mystical creatures who lived forever and made evil magic to enslave their mortal kin. One elf could kill a dozen trained warriors, and would do so whenever given the chance. It was the elves who lead thousands of men to fight against Sauron and sacrificed their lives, while only a small percentage of the Firstborn had perished. 

This fear, this ancient grudge the mortals had towards the elves, was the key to his overthrow. Combined with the lock that was mankind's gossiping and distrustful nature, his plan was secure. The only obstacle was the actual act of forcing Elessar to resign. It would be simple enough to just kill the man, after having, of course, gotten through his guards, but that would turn more ill favor upon the usurpers. No, Elessar had to resign, and in doing so, look weak in the face of his people. A bad sovereign. Elessar would not resign easily though, as his strength and honor were nearly unbeatable upon the coming of the Fourth Age. Likewise, was his loyalty, but that worked more in Narndil's favor than the king's. How long could Elessar refuse to sign his resignation when the life of his son was in danger? A king with no heir is weak anyway, so not only would Elessar be faced with the loss of his title, but also the loss of the boy. 

Mhrenel had confirmed the night before that Elessar was protective of his only son. Narndil's most trusted employee had watched the king sneak from his castle in the guise of a ranger and disappear into the woods, returning shortly with his son cradled in his arms and the strange elf from the Northern lands. Smiling, Narndil wrote this down on his parchment as well: 'Elessar entrusts his son to an elf.'

There was a sharp knock on the door. Narndil frowned, annoyed to be interrupted. Nevertheless, he shuffled his remaining papers into a pile and called out for the person to enter. The door opened and Mhrenel stepped inside, followed by another of the guards. 

"Gnanthor has returned from the Tharbad[1] bridge. They were successful in waylaying the trading group heading towards Bree."

Narndil perked up slightly at this good news. "Any survivors?"

"Nay, all perished."

"The goods?"

"Being transferred to your store rooms as we speak."

"Evidence that it was Gnanthor?"

"No, all has been taken care of."

"Good. Spread the word that it was a group of elves from Rivendell that attacked the envoy."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"No, that is all." Narndil waved his hand and Mhrenel and the guard parted, closing the door securely behind them. Narndil leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile on his taunt face. Soon it would be time to capture the Crown Prince, and his plan would be in motion.

*

Two dark haired men in worn traveling clothes were seated at the table behind Gimli. The noise of drunk and drinking patrons in the small tavern was loud, but the dwarf was still able to catch snatches of the men's conversation. It had not been his intent to eavesdrop, but they spoke loudly, almost as if they wanted to be heard. When the word 'elf' was mentioned, Gimli listened in attentively. Anything he could use as ammunition against Legolas in their verbal sparing matches was well worth eavesdropping for. 

Every once and while, a drunk would put out a loud yell, drowning out the words of the two men behind Gimli. Still, the conversation of the men was easy to decipher, and Gimli's eyes widened when he clearly heard one of them say, "Yeah, it was those scheming elves from Rivendell that attacked the traders. Left none alive and stole all the goods. Even killed a few of the horses."

Rivendell? There were hardly any elves left in the fabled refuge, and they were well provided for by the bountiful forest around them. They had no reason to be attacking humans for supplies. If they were in need of help, they were on friendly terms with Gondor and Aragorn would gladly send provisions to his foster brothers. These men were clearly mistaken. 

"Excuse me, good sir, but I couldn't help but overhear parts of your conversation," a young barmaid interrupted the dark strangers. "It is true that the elves attacked traders from Gondor?"

"Aye, little lady. And it ain't been the first time, either. The elves have been attacking numerous caravans."

"Truly? But my brother is a trader," the girl gasped.

"May his passage be safe, then," one man said, and Gimli noted it was laced with fake sympathy. "Make sure you watch out for 'em. It wouldn't surprise me if they started attacking Gondor herself!"

_Elves attack Gondor? These men were dislusional! _Gimli thought heatedly. 

"Me either," the other man replied. "Those Rivendell elves might look sweet and innocent with their blue eyes and blonde hair, but they aren't anything of the sort! Their dark minds are always conniving to come up with ways to weaken men."

"Hold your tongue, evil snake oil!" Gimli roared, standing up from his seat and gripping his axe. "Ye spread false tales to scare the womenfolk. Ain't never been an elf to attack Gondor!"

The two men jumped up as well, first in shock at the loud accusation, but secondly in anger. "Hold your tongue Master Dwarf. You're not in your own territory here," one of the men threatened. 

"I shall hold nothing by my axe handle, while its imbedded in your stinking skull!"

"I doubt your axe could even reach my head, as your stature is less than uplifting," the other man taunted. 

"I've heard worse threats from the King of Rohan, simple fool," Gimli shot back, not at all intimidated by their words or height. He had, after-all, fought Uruk-hai and Wargs. 

"Please," came the frantic voice of the tavern owner. "I'll have no bloodshed inside my establishment. Take your concerns outside."

"Gladly," Gimli glowered. The two men nodded as well, but as soon as they had passed the threshold of the door, they took off running down the street. Gimli laughed at them, and then turned back to the tavern. The windows and door were full of curious and somewhat frightened patrons, trying to see what the dwarf would do. Gimli shook his head and then decided to head back to the palace and inform Aragorn of the 'blonde' elves from Rivendell. 

*

"… and the sorry cowards took of running down the alley," Gimli finished his tale proudly. He looked at the faces of his four listeners, and was dismayed to see identical looks of distress on all of their faces. "What?" he asked. 

"I daresay that now the people of Gondor will have more to say about the anger of the dwarves than the magic of the elves," Legolas jested, but it was weak and no humor was behind it. Arwen reached over from her seat next to him and took his hand. Both elves felt heavy burdens were placed on their shoulders from the false rumors of the elves' maundering. Arwen felt it especially, as she hailed from Rivendell. 

"Let them talk!" Gimli roared, anger turning his face red. 

"I think we have more important things to worry about," Aragorn interjected. "Like, who is actually behind these attacks and why blame the elves?"

"Is it possible that the elves were from Lothlorien, or even Eryn Lasgalen[2]?" Faramir asked. "The fair elves there have blonde hair."

"No, it is entirely IMpossible," Legolas snapped. "There are even less elves in Lorien than in Rivendell, hardly enough to successfully launch a raid. Eryn Lasgalen is too far away, and the elves there don't venture past the borders. IF Thranduil were to order a raid, it would be directed at the dwarves in the Misty Mountains, not some random traders half way across Arda!" His blue eyes were heated with anger that he had to defend his people. Arwen tightened her hold on his hand and Aragorn sent him a look that clearly said, I know your feelings but do not take them out on Faramir. 

"Forgive my misguided concerns," Faramir replied tersely. 

"No," Legolas sighed. "I should offer you my apologizes, for you did not deserve my anger. I am merely frustrated that my people are so feared and hated."

"Accepted, my friend," Faramir replied, smiling slightly. Legolas nodded. 

"Though spoken in anger, Legolas' words are true," Aragorn entered the conversation again. "This attack was not the doing of elves. We must figure out who initiated it."

"Estel," Arwen said softly. "These men made false the participation of the elves in the raid. Perhaps, then, it is possible that the whole raid was fabricated. It seems their intent was purely to cause more hatred in the hearts of men for the elves."

"I did not think of that," Gimli said, leaning back in his chair.

"Nor I," Aragorn added, "and it is a good point. I shall look into that, and see if a recent trading party was waylaid en route to Bree. Still, however, the question remains as to why someone would want to disgrace the elves."

"No good will come of it," Faramir spoke. "For the most part, all the elves are leaving Middle Earth anyway. If it is the land they want, they do not need to take it by force. Soon it will be uninhabited." Arwen looked sad, as she imagined her beautiful home ransacked by men. She hoped it would be after her passing.

"And we do not know if that is the reason for their deceit," Aragorn argued. "It could be something completely different."

"And what that is, we may never know," Gimli said gloomily. 

From his hiding spot under the long table, covered by a cloth that reached the floor, Eldarion pressed his lips together in a frown. He, too, was confused as to why someone would want to hurt the elves. Legolas had never been anything but kind to him and his sisters, and was one of his father's best friends. Besides that, his own mother was half-elven.

tbc…

[1] The Tharbad bridge crosses the Gwathló River on the North-South Road that runs through Enedwaith from Rohan to the Shire, and branches off towards Bree.

[2] Celeborn and Thranduil met after the War of the Ring, and after Dol Guldor had been destroyed, to rename Mirkwood _Eryn Lasgalen_, meaning 'The Wood of Greenleaves.'


	4. Chapter Four

Here is Ch 4. I still don't own anything except my original characters and the plot, and doubt I will ever own anything else.

[A/N] In the first chapter I said that one would need a very basic understanding of Sindarin, and I hold to that, but if I have to look up how to say something, it's only fair that I give you the translation. It's at the end of the chapter.

Thank you Cerridwen (twice) and Noriel for reviewing. J

**-- CHAPTER FOUR --__**

What worries Eldarion had been harboring fled as new concerns filled his young mind. Particularly, how to spend the ten copper pieces Aragorn had given him at the fair that day. There were so many games to play and sweets to eat and toys to purchase that Eldarion feared he needed ten gold pieces, instead. 

At least he had already managed to lose Tiri in the growing crowd of Minas Tirith's festive grounds. The old nurse was slowing him down as he tried to experience as much as possible. The young prince, full of royal bravado, felt no ill-tidings at being in the crowd by himself. A few of the womenfolk had given him small pieces of candy and cooed such gross endearments as 'what a sweet little prince' and 'my isn't he growing into a fine young lad.' Eldarion smiled politely, took his treat, and disappeared back into the crowds again, leaving the women to giggle about what a lady-killer he would be when he came of age. Eldarion rolled his eyes.

He came upon a makeshift ring where two men were competing in sword play. Eldarion was awed by their quick moves and strong hits, and decided that he was going to learn to use the sword in such a manner. If anything the guards said about Elessar's prowess with a sword was true, then his father was the perfect person to teach him. One man managed to strike the other with the dulled sword, earning himself a point. The crowd roared and Eldarion cheered along with them. He had climbed up on the wooden fence that created the ring so he could see better, and the point-gainer spotted him. "That was for you, your highness!" he announced, and Eldarion grinned widely, his eyes shining. The man managed to hit his opponent two more times, and he was declared the victor. Eldarion cheered as loud as he could, clapping still as the man was given his prize, a gold coin on a velvet pillow. The man walked over to the little prince, still grinning. 

"Wonderful," Eldarion gushed. "I shall like to learn to wield the sword as you," he praised the man, eyes full of idol worship. 

"There is none finer in the land with a sword than your father, little one. Only he can wield Andúril, the sword that was broken."

"I suppose that is true, my friend," Eldarion sighed. "He still thinks I am too young."

"Perhaps he is right," the man smiled softly. "I bet he thinks you are too young to be out in the crowd by yourself, as well." 

Eldarion scowled. "I have seen nearly eleven summers. He worries more than Tiri."

"Your nurse?"

"Aye," Eldarion nodded. 

"What say you, that I return you to your father, and then ask his leave to show you some lessons on the sword?"

"Truly you would?" Eldarion asked, his eyes lighting up again.

"I shall ask, though he may still say no," the man confirmed. 

"Then I agree, under one condition," Eldarion said. 

"What is that, little prince?"

"That you tell me your name, so I might remember the great sword fighter."

"Happily, milord. I am Rowland, the blacksmith."

"A blacksmith?" Eldarion exclaimed. "Made you your sword?"

"Aye," Rowland nodded. "Though it is dulled for competition." 

"Perhaps I shall some day become a blacksmith, then," Eldarion decided. Rowland laughed and shook his head. He took Eldarion's hand and started through the crowd to where the King and Queen were watching the archery contest.

"You are destined for far greater things than the life of a blacksmith, my friend," Rowland told him. They reached the grandstands where two guards watched the steps up to where the royal family was sitting. Rowland bowed to the guards, and then said, "I seek to return Prince Eldarion to his father."

"That is good, for the Queen frets about his safety," the guard answered, smirking slightly at Eldarion's annoyed look. 

"Come, Rowland, meet my father," Eldarion said, tugging on his hand. Rowland held back slightly, glancing at the guards. 

"It is not my place to go up there, little prince. 'Tis only for the royals."

"Nonsense. You are my friend," Eldarion argued. "_Ada_ shall be pleased to meet the best swordsman in his country." One of the guards raised an eyebrow and Rowland shook his head, blushing slightly. Just then, the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs attracted their attention. All looked up to see King Elessar himself standing on the third step, relief evident on his face.

"I thought I heard your voice, _hênnín_," Aragorn said. "Tiri is quite frantic. She searches for you now." His tone was light, but there was still a note of reprimand. Eldarion scowled at the mention of his nurse, but was smiling again a moment later. 

"_Ada_, this is Rowland the blacksmith, and a champion swordsman!" Eldarion introduced the man standing behind him. 

"Well met," Aragorn nodded. 

"Very well met, my King," Rowland bowed low. "I return the prince to you. He was watching the sword fights unattended."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Aragorn grumbled under his breath. He shot Eldarion a Look. The boy was unfazed.

"Rowland won, _Ada_!"

"A simple match, my liege. Not the whole competition," Rowland corrected, with a blush. 

"Do not be so modest, my friend," Eldarion told him. "He won a gold coin, you know," he informed his father. 

"Congratulations," Aragorn told Rowland. 

"Rowland, ask my father what you would," Eldarion insisted, excitedly. "Say yes, _Ada_, _saes_!" 

"What is it that you would ask?" Aragorn inquired, shushing Eldarion. 

"The young prince has expressed interest in learning the art of sword fighting, milord. Given your leave, I would teach him a few things." Rowland bowed again. 

"I shall remember your offer, but right now Eldarion is yet too small to use such a great weapon," Aragorn replied. "Perhaps in a few years your offer might still stand."

"Of course, milord. I would be honored." Neither paid any attention to Eldarion who stood next to his father, arms crossed, and pouting like an expert. 

"Good luck in the rest of the sword competition," Aragorn bowed slightly. 

"Thank you, King Elessar," Rowland bowed lowly, then smiled at Eldarion. "Until we meet again, my Prince."

"Aye, good luck my friend," Eldarion grinned. Aragorn took his hand and pulled him up to where the rest of the royal family was sitting. When they reached the top level, Arwen looked over, relief that surpassed Aragorn's on her face. 

"Eldarion _Aragornion_," she scolded, "_carú prestanín sui sen ad_." 

"Sorry," Eldarion mumbled. Arwen's face softened and she pulled the boy to her in a hug. 

"Come, let us watch the archery. Save your apologies for Tiri." Eldarion sat next to his mother, not looking forward to meeting with his nursemaid. He glanced at the people sitting in the private stands; his mother and father, Shalay, Almia, Niphredil, Faramir and Éowyn, and a few of Arwen's ladies. 

"_Ada_, where is Legolas?" Eldarion asked curiously. "Is he not in the archery competition?"

"No," Aragorn told him. "It would not be fair if the finest Elvish archer were to compete against mere mortals." There was a laugh in his voice and Eldarion smiled widely. 

"I shall be the finest archer someday," Eldarion informed his father. Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to sword fighting?"

"I shall be the best in that, as well."

"You dream big, Eldi," Aragorn chuckled. "That is good. Legolas and Gimli will be here shortly, I think."

"Okay." 

Nearly half an hour had passed since Eldarion rejoined his father, and he grew bored of watching archery. He tugged on his father's sleeve, begging to be allowed to wander through the fair again. Aragorn only would agree if Eldarion took Tiri with him, and gave his word that he would not run off. Eldarion grudgingly promised, much to the dismay of the nursemaid who had returned fifteen minutes prior. The two left the stands, and Eldarion still clutched his ten copper pieces in a tight fist. 

*

"Watch yourself, Master Dwarf," Legolas laughed, "or I shall lose you in this crowd of men who are much taller than yourself."

"'Tis not I that am too short, but they who are too tall!" Gimli argued, causing his friend to chuckle mirthfully. 

"That may be so, _elvellon_, but it still makes it difficult for me to follow you."

"What is that you always say about the keen eyes of the elf, Legolas?" Gimli taunted, not slowing down at all. He continued to shove through the crowds of people. 

"Much keener eyes than you I have, Gimli, but I can not see through things," Legolas retorted, trying to squeeze between the people with slightly more respect for their personal space. They came to a small break in the crowd, and could now see more than a foot in front of themselves. 

"Say, isn't that Aragorn's boy?" Gimli asked, pointing at the youth that was pulling an older woman towards the edge of the fair. 

"Eldarion, yes," Legolas answered. "An his poor nursemaid, as well."

"Poor is right, I say," Gimli laughed. "If one should ponder Aragorn as a child, they would only have to observe Eldarion."

"True," Legolas replied. They watched Eldarion step up to a booth, which he seemed to have found with the help of one of its workers, as it was somewhat out of the way from the rest of the fair. The squirrelly looking man encouraged the youth to step up to the booth, and in exchange for one of his copper pieces, the man gave him three large stones. Legolas surmised that the object of the game was to knock three tins off of a shelf with the stones, and win a prize. 

"He could work on his throw," Gimli commented after Eldarion missed the first toss by at least a foot.

"Aye," Legolas agreed. His second throw was slightly closer. 

"Third time's a charm," Gimli mused. Unfortunately, this didn't prove true, and Eldarion missed again. The boy's face screwed up in frustration. A brief conversation with the worker followed, and then Eldarion stepped around the front of the booth to get a closer look at the prizes. "Must be nice to be a prince," Gimli snorted. 

"Hm," Legolas replied absently, his eyes narrowing as he watched the booth. There was a slight movement to the left, and then suddenly a darkly dressed man jumped out and grabbed the boy, shoving a rolled up bit of cloth into his mouth. 

"Eldarion!" Tiri, the nursemaid cried out, trying to rush forward, but the other worker hit her hard, sending her sprawling to the ground. 

"Gimli!" Legolas exclaimed to the dwarf who was already running towards the booth. The dark man easily picked up the squirming boy and disappeared behind the booth again, probably to an alley. The worker followed after him. "Attend to the nurse and get word to Aragorn! I will follow Eldarion."

"Go with speed!" Gimli told him. Legolas started after the dark man and his coworker, hoping he hadn't already lost his quarries.

_tbc_…

_carú prestanín sui sen ad_ = do not worry [_lit_. disturb] me like this again


	5. Chapter Five

Hello, I'm back with more of my story. The disclaimer on Chapter One still stands.

Thank you to Faer and Jess for leaving me reviews. Encouragement is always appreciated, as are reviews. :)

[A/N] At the end of the chapter there are references to about three different places, all around the border between Mordor and Gondor, and I have no idea how to explain the geography. Just imagine Gondor, Mordor, and Amon Hen (where Boromir died) as three points on a triangle, and all the stuff I mention as being inside that triangle. 

**– CHAPTER FIVE – **

Gimli knelt down next to the hysterical woman. "Madam! Calm yourself," he ordered her, but Tiri was too caught up in the situation to heed his command. 

"Eldarion!" she continued screaming, and Gimli cursed in his native tongue as her cries gained the attention of the humans standing nearby. Gimli, left with no other alternative, slapped his hand over her mouth and twisted her head so that he could glare into her eyes. Tiri's eyes widened as she stared into the face of a very irate dwarf. 

"Listen to me, woman," he growled. "Do you wish to attract more attention to the prince's plight, and further endanger him?" Tiri was frozen stiff with fear. "Do not call out to him again. The elf is following him, and will bring him back, but he will need help." Tiri blinked, and Gimli swallowed another curse. "You can help the prince by coming with me and telling Lord Aragorn what has transpired." Her eyes seemed to widen even more at this, and finally Gimli didn't hold it against her. He did not relish telling Aragorn that Eldarion had been kidnaped, either. "If I release you, will you hold your cries to yourself?" he demanded, and this time Tiri was able to feebly nod her head. Gimli grunted in approval and removed his hand from her mouth. Tiri took a few deep breaths, and clutched at her heart. "Are you injured, madam?"

"No, I am well," Tiri replied weakly. 

"Come, and we will find the King." Gimli held out his hand to help her stand, but Tiri did not want to touch the weird creature anymore. Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet, fruitlessly trying to brush the dust off her skirts. 

"Oh, the Queen shall have my head for this," Tiri mourned herself. 

"Nay, Arwen is good and just, and it was not your fault," Gimli assured her. 

"I should have been more wary."

"Do not blame yourself, for it will grow tiresome," Gimli grumbled, and started towards the grandstands. Tiri followed a few steps behind him, trying to recollect her few personal possessions and trying to decide to whom she would bequeath what after her premature demise. 

They reached the stands sooner than either of them would have liked. The guards recognized Tiri, and were immediately concerned by her appearance and fact that the prince wasn't present. She started to stutter some sort of explanation, but Gimli would have none of their dawdling. He shoved between the two guards and started up the stairs, his heavy footfalls alerting all above him of his imminent approach. He reached the top step and glanced at the curious people eying him. "Aragorn!" he stated. "I must have a word with you."

"Gimli... it is the last shot of the competition," Aragorn replied carefully. He didn't understand the dwarf's urgency. "Can it wait but five minutes?"

"If your son's life can wait five minutes," Gimli snapped. Aragorn's eyes widened, and there was a gasp from behind him. Gimli peered around him to see Arwen standing, but her eyes were not on the dwarf, but rather the woman behind him. Arwen took in Tiri's dirty dress and mused hair, as well as the bruise that was forming on her cheek with an eerie resemblance to a human hand, and knew that much was amiss. Faramir had also stood, and moved now to his King's side, leaving Éowyn in her seat, looking over fearfully. A roaring cheer rose from the crowd below them, for the archery competition had ended. Now, the King cared not who won.

"Let us go then," Aragorn said quietly, ushering Gimli and Tiri towards the back corner where they could converse privately. Arwen was desperate to hear what had befallen her only son, but she saw that her daughters were also upset, and needed her reassurances. If only she could reassure herself. 

"What saw you?" Aragorn demanded of Gimli in a hissed whisper. "And where... where is Legolas?"

"Aye, that I will tell ye," Gimli replied. "Legolas and I were returning, as the silly elf wanted to see the end of the archery competition, and we chanced a sight of your bonny lad playing a carnival game. The game, I might add, he was very bad at. Ye might consider it wise to learn him something about throwing stones."

"Gimli, I pray to the Valar that you have not adopted Legolas' confounded means of speaking in circles during the time you've spent with him," Aragorn said in frustration. "What happened to dwarves speaking directly to the point?"

"I'll have ye know, King, that a dwarf would _never_ pick up the mannerisms of a flighty elf," Gimli defended himself. Aragorn groaned audibly. 

"I apologize, good friend, I meant no disrespect. Please, tell me what happened to Eldarion!"

"Apology grudgingly accepted, under the circumstances," Gimli glared at him. Aragorn motioned for him to continue. "Aye, the boy was playing the stone-throwing game, which he was not very good at..." Gimli raised an eyebrow, daring Aragorn to comment. He was satisfied when the man remained silent, and continued, "when a dark stranger moved from behind the stand and grabbed the boy. The worker struck the woman, obviously in partnership with the dark stranger, then took off after them. Legolas is currently on their trail."

"Legolas ran after the men who took Eldarion?" Aragorn confirmed. Gimli nodded, and Aragorn breathed a slight sigh of relief. He knew the elf would stop at nothing until the prince was safe again. He looked to Gimli to give him a brief smile, but instead his eyes landed at the dwarf's middle, where no axe rested. "Gimli, where is your axe?"

"My axe? Why, I left it in the palace. Legolas and I agreed that we already scared the people enough as it was, and at the fair, there would be no need for an axe or arrows." Aragorn looked stricken at this information. 

"Fool elf," he muttered, now worried for both his friend and his son. 

*

Legolas quickly came to the same realization that Aragorn had as he ran through the twisted dark alleys of Minas Tirith; he was chasing two possibly dangerous men, and he was unarmed. Not completely at risk, however, for he had two small daggers on him, one hidden in his right boot, and the other in his left gauntlet. They would not do much for him in battle, but at least they were something. 

After leaving Gimli with the frantic nurse, Legolas had darted around the fair stand and was confronted with two dark alleys. He stood silently for only a moment, until his keen Elven ears picked up the sound of retreating footsteps. _Two men, one holding something burdensome_, he grinned, and started silently down the alley. 

The two men had taken great advantage of the extremely short head start they had been given, and it took Legolas a while to catch a sight of them, though he could usually hear their heavy steps. He finally caught sight of them as they reached the gate that led out of the great walled city, and slowed with slight relief. The guards would undoubtedly stop the two men, and rescue the prince. Legolas was shocked, then, when the two men ran right up to the gate, and one of the guards moved to open it for them! Grinding his teeth together in a manner that he had picked up from Gimli, and also Aragorn on occasion, Legolas charged forward again. Obviously, the spiteful lies the men had been spreading reached further than just the common folk. 

Legolas reached the gate, and was not wholly surprised to be stopped by the same guard that had let the two men pass with his prince. "I must ask your reason for leaving so suddenly, Master Elf," he said, with barely concealed hostility. Legolas decided that he wasn't going to honor the man with an answer. Instead, he leveled him with a Look that only one of the Firstborn were capable of, one that would have made an any lesser man wet himself. The guard still took a cautious step back, his hand going to the sword at his side. 

"It is obvious that you fail to still honor your King," Legolas seethed, "but failing in your duty to protect a citizen of Gondor is a failure to honor your captain, and most of all, your country." The man audibly gulped, and suddenly felt shame at what he had done. It would have been un-elflike to roll his eyes, so Legolas refrained. He was about to demand the guard open the gate when a second one walked up, sword already drawn. 

"Hey, Beregond, are you gonna let a shifty _elf_ talk to you like that?" he asked. He nearly spat the word "elf." Legolas didn't give Beregond a chance to reply. He moved forward and unsheathed the man's sword before either even realized what was going on. Fighting with the two guards would be a waste of time, so Legolas turned and dashed towards the gate. It was locked, and there was no way he could break the lock. He jumped straight up once he reached the iron bars and caught the top rung, just out of reach of the traitorous guards that tried to drag him back down. He slid the sword into his belt so he could have both hands free and nimbly climbed over the top and dropped down the other side. The guards were trying to unlock the gate to chase him, but in their haste they couldn't fit the key in the lock correctly. 

"Just let 'im go. Gondor is glad to see 'im gone," the man who had addressed Beregond earlier said. 

Legolas spotted the two men about a mile away, taking horses from a waiting farmer. The dark man threw Eldarion's limp body over the saddle and then mounted, tugging the reins of the horse sharply. The horse reared up on its hind legs, but could not unseat its rider. It came down into a hard gallop, which the worker found hard to keep up with. 

Putting his innate Elvish endurance and speed to the test, Legolas started after them, thankful that the riders did not control the beasts well, which slowed them down. The riders stayed along the outskirts of the Druadan Forest, which kept them easily in sight. Unfortunately, they were quickly approaching the Anduin and the wetlands just under the foot of Ephel Duath, the shadowy mountain range that divided the evil land of Mordor from Gondor. It would be harder for Legolas to follow them without giving himself away, as there were less trees to duck behind. 

The men rode to a copse of trees just before the Anduin and Nindalf[1], where Legolas could see numerous other men waiting, all seated on horseback. A quick count revealed that there were twenty of them. The elf could not fathom why so many men were needed, when two had successfully captured the prince. His question was soon answered as a man Legolas had never seen before barked a short order, which Legolas could barely hear, but not make out the words, and then three quarters of the men started riding directly at him. The remaining riders, including the man that held Eldarion, continued fleeing North.

Releasing a Dwarven curse he had picked up from Gimli, Legolas frantically tried to come up with a means of escape. He had no long range weapons, and by the time the men were upon him so he could use his newly acquired sword and daggers, he would not be able to fight them off. Had it been fifteen Orcs running his way, Legolas wouldn't have minded, but men were notoriously smarter than the foul creatures of Mordor, and they rode horses, giving them an advantage of height. 

Suddenly, a memory flashed through Legolas' mind. He was again on the Quest of the One Ring, with the Fellowship. The remaining eight members of the Fellowship had just reached Amon Hen and were under siege by the Uruk-hai. The Horn of Gondor had been blown. Boromir was defending Merry and Pippin. The hobbits were throwing rocks at the Uruk-hai to try to slow their advance. 

A grim smile broke across Legolas' face. It was not the means of defending himself that Legolas was most keen on using, but retreating was not an option, and he had not his bow and arrows. He quickly scanned the ground for some fist sized rocks and picked up as many as he could carry. The men were closing the distance between them quickly, and Legolas took a calming breath. He waited until the men were within five fathoms of him, and then threw the first rock as hard as he could, aiming for the lead rider's head. 

He had, fortunately, much better aim that Eldarion and hit the man neatly in the middle of his forehead, knocking him from his horse and unconscious. Pleased that his plan had worked, Legolas launched more rocks at them, successfully knocking four more men off of their horses and stunning at least three others. He continued throwing the stones until the riders were upon him, and then he drew the sword he had lifted from the honor-less guard. "_Valar, berianin_," he asked silently, glancing briefly towards the West. Moments later, he was surrounded. 

_tbc..._

[1] "...down into the Nindalf, the Wetwang as it is called in your tongue. That is a wide region of sluggish fen where the stream becomes torturous and much divided." -Celeborn, The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien. This is part of the same marshland as the Dead Marshes.

_Valar, berianin _= Valar, protect me (Sindarin)

please review!


	6. Chapter Six

Hey everyone. Sorry, this took so long to get out, but a lot of things have been going on, including my first semester in college. Here is chapter 6 of this story, and thank you to all the people who reviewed to chapter 5. I'll be more specific in my thanks at the end of the chapter. 

[A/N 1] I was reading the story to get myself back into the groove and remind myself of what exactly was going on, and I noticed, to my dismay, that in chapter 5 I had named one of the traitorous guards Beregond, which just happens to be the name of Aragorn's captain. That was not intentional, at all. So, let us just say that he isn't the same person as Beregond III. 

[A/N 2] Elvish translations are at the end of the chapter. 

CHAPTER SIX 

"Estel," Arwen pleaded, grasping the sleeve of her husband's shirt. "_Melethnín, saes togtiriths_." Her urgent request in her native tongue brought Aragorn's attention away from the leather ties on the front of his tunic. "_Im gosta…_" 

"_Shhh_," Aragorn tried to soothe her. "I cannot bring more guards, as we need to travel quickly and possibly in secrecy," he explained, replying in Westron to also benefit Éowyn as she fretted over Faramir's safety. "Gimli, Faramir, and I are all experienced warriors, you know this. Eldarion and Legolas need us to hurry."

"You can do them no help if you do not reach them," Éowyn snapped, tears glistening in her eyes from both fear and anger. 

"It takes precious time to prepare an escort," Aragorn answered as he fastened the broach of his cloak and strapped his sword to his side. "Arwen," he glanced at his wife, "if it lessens your worries, prepare an escort and have them follow us, but we must leave now. You are in charge while I'm gone."

"I will send an escort," Arwen replied, finally seeming to acquiesce to Aragorn's departure. Her face was still weary with a frown and sad eyes, but she didn't protest any further. When Aragorn and his two companions were ready to part, Arwen leaned up and kissed her husband quickly on the lips. "Be safe."

"I will," he assured her. He looked over to where Faramir was experiencing a similar parting from Éowyn. Gimli stood just off to the side, looking rather impatient. "Come, Faramir, Gimli. We must make haste. Already an hour closes upon the time you last saw Eldarion or Legolas." Faramir pressed a chaste kiss to Éowyn's lips and then pulled away, moving towards the door. Aragorn and Gimli followed suit. As the thick doors closed behind the three males, Arwen and Éowyn turned to each other with twin looks of distress. Arwen once again felt tears welling up in her eyes. 

"My son," she whispered hoarsely. Éowyn heard her small cry and moved to draw her into a hug, wishing she could remove some of her friend's pain. It must be horrible to have your child missing, unsure of how the child fared, or even if the child still lived. 

*

Mhrenel was faced with a tough decision. Narndil had only told him to hide in Fangorn until word was sent that King Elessar had abdicated and left the country. Mhrenel had no problem with remaining in the dense trees for an extended period of time, even though most people thought the woods were cursed. _Stupid people_, he sneered to himself. _So easy to trick, to lie to, to control…_

No, the problem that Mhrenel had with waiting in Fangorn was how to get there. Narndil, the mastermind behind the plan, had failed to advise his best man on _how_ to get to the dark trees. The most direct route would take them still at least four days, and take them nearer to Edoras than Mhrenel ever wanted to go. The close alliance between Rohan and Gondor would serve to be a great obstacle should the group of kidnappers be stopped by any of the Rohirrim, and King Éomer would not be very forthcoming with mercy once it was discovered they had the Gondorian prince. Not only that, but Rohan was a large, dry plain that offered little in the idea of shelter and disguise. They would be spotted from far off. 

On the other hand, to stay along the lightly wooded banks of the Anduin would add another day and a half to their flight, leaving them out in the open for even longer, yet less likely to be seen. They had enough provisions to last them, and they could always hunt once they reached the woods, but more rest would be required for the horses. Mhrenel also feared that it would easier for the following guard to track them in the wooded areas, as there were more plants and softer dirt to disturb. He did not want to aide the King of Gondor in any way. Weighing the consequences of both routes, Mhrenel finally decided to reach the woods as soon as possible. They would ride through Rohan. 

"Men!" he called, turning his horse to face the waiting riders. The four others turned to look at him, their dirty faces impatient. "We ride Northwest, and enter Fangorn from the most direct route."

"Mhrenel!" the man who held Eldarion shouted to their leader. "The prince begins to wake."

"Keep his mouth shut. Should we be stopped by the Rohirrim, do not let it be discovered that he is Gondor's prince," Mhrenel instructed. "Make him obey you." His last words were harsh, and the dark man, called Talmere, understood the order to punish the youth for any hamper he tried to put on their plans. He knew that whether the King abdicated or not they were going to kill the boy, and Eldarion didn't have to be able to walk for them to do it. 

"Why're we riskin' tha Rohirrim?" another man, Binthin asked. His black eyes narrowed at their leader.

"It is the quickest route, and unless you know of another way to reach Fangorn in less than four days, feel free to tell me, because I don't," Mhrenel snapped angrily. 

"I do not, but still…"

"I shall not have anyone questioning my judgment," Mhrenel yelled, moving his horse closer to Binthin's. "The next man to not follow my orders exactly as given will immediately be run through with a sword. Understood?"

"Yes," the four men chorused nervously. Mhrenel was not someone they wanted to anger. 

"Good," he said, sitting back slightly in his saddle. He acted as through he was going to return to the front of the group, but suddenly he drew his sword and lunged it forward. Before the other three men could comprehend what was happening, Binthin's lifeless body was hitting the hard ground, blood flowing freely from the hole in his chest. "Do not forget," Mhrenel glowered, wiping his bloody sword on the saddle pad of Binthin's nervous horse, and then he did ride ahead.

"I sho' won't," Talmere muttered under his breath. Mhrenel looked back at the man. 

"Talmere," he barked. For a second the dark man feared that Mhrenel had heard his comment and was going to end him the same way as Binthin. "Tie the boy to the horse securely," he ordered. Talmere let out a relieved breath and moved quickly to do what Mhrenel said. The prince was already murmuring illegible things and starting to move, and Talmere was glad to be rid of his burden. He slid off of his horse and walked over to Binthin's. Eldarion was placed over the saddle, laying on his stomach, so Talmere could tie his wrists to one side of the saddle and his ankles to the other. The boy could not slid off the horse, nor move much at all. With the task finished, Talmere took the dead man's horse's reins and remounted his own horse, ready to travel. 

"Let us ride," Mhrenel said. "We have wasted enough time here." He kicked his horse and the beast surged forward. The other four horses followed the leader, who set a quick pace. The body of Binthin was left behind for the wargs and maggots. 

*

Legolas used his appropriated sword to knock one man off his horse while dodging a blow from another. Allowing himself to become immersed in the battle, Legolas was able to sense his opponents moves before they even started them, so he successfully danced through their swords, striking back and never taking a hit himself. The men were worthy opponents, but Legolas had nearly three thousand years on them, and the whole experience with the Fellowship to aid him. Methodically, he unhorsed the remaining men, trying not to kill them, but not compromising himself to their blades, either. 

Near the end of the fight one man managed to pick himself up from his fall to the ground and retrieved his sword. He lunged towards the elf, swinging the curved blade at the level of Legolas' shoulders. Legolas barely ducked, and, feeling the movement of air behind the blade, turned to thrust his own sword through the man's bowels. The man, mad with bloodlust and blinded by adrenaline, would not be defeated so easily. With one bloody, sweaty hand, he caught the handle of the sword, preventing Legolas from withdrawing it and using it to defend himself further. 

In a brief moment of confusion, Legolas locked gazes with the dying man, whose dark eyes seemed to laugh at the immortal even as they clouded over with death. That single moment almost cost him the battle, but Legolas caught the reflection of another man raising his sword behind him in the glassy eyes of the dying man. Legolas, bemoaned at the loss of his best weapon, released it, dropped into a sideways roll, and dodged the incoming blow. Mid-roll, he pulled the dagger from his boot and used the momentum from his roll to lift up and stab the man in the chest. Blood spurted from his mouth and caught Legolas on the front of his tunic. The elf allowed himself one truly horrified look of disgust before he was side-stepping another blow, spinning, stabbing, and then standing in the middle of a circle of fallen men. Only one man remained standing, or rather sitting on his horse's back, for he had not joined in the battle readily. Legolas, with his chest heaving from exertion, eyed the man warily. The man glared back, tightening his hold on the beast's reins. 

"You fight well, my immortal brethren," the man spoke, his voice raspy. 

"Do not waste your breath trying to plead your case, foul schemer," Legolas answered. "You shall need it shortly."

"I sit here upon a horse, refreshed, and you stand before me, exhausted from battle. For what should I save my breath?"

"All men speak pretty when they know they cannot prove themselves with skill," Legolas shot back. "You overestimate while you underestimate." 

"I shall show you skill!" the man bellowed, irritated that the elf did not blanche under his supremacy. He yanked hard on the horse's reins, forcing the stallion to rear up on its hind legs. When the horses' forelegs touched the ground again, it was galloping towards the elf, armed with only a dagger. 

Legolas eyed the approaching horse carefully, trying to judge the angle, the speed, and the force that the attack would come with. Leaning back slightly, Legolas prepared himself for the strike that should fell his attacker. Duck as the man charged by, then rise, turn, and implant the dagger in his back. The timing had to be just right. 

At the last second, the rider jerked the reins of the horse, sending it almost on top of the elf. Legolas reacted instantly, but the move was unexpected and his dagger caught the stallion across the chest. Enraged, the powerful horse skidded to a stop and began bucking, his hind legs aiming for the one who had cut him. 

"_Daro_!_ Sîdh roch mellon_!" Legolas tried to appease the horse, but the stallion had faced many years of torment by its cruel masters, and cared not for the worried voice of the elf. Legolas tried to evade the kicking hindquarters, but the horse caught his left shoulder with a shoed hoof. 

Legolas could not hold back the cry of pain as fire erupted in his shoulder, and he felt as if his arm had been ripped from his body. The off-center strike sent him tumbling in a circle to land on his knees, clutching his injured shoulder painfully. As soon as the fire from the initial attack faded, Legolas discovered a new pain just below his neck, and realized with dismay that the blow had probably broken his collarbone as well. Dizziness welled up behind his eyes and Legolas shook his head to try to clear it. Hectic thought were scattered across his mind, but he did remember to look for the man who had been riding the horse. The man was lying a few yards away, having been thrown from the horse while it bucked, neck most likely snapped during the fall. The abused stallion was leaving a trail of dust in its wake as it galloped across the plain, but Legolas knew it would not survive long with its injury. 

_I must get away from this mess, and to the trees where I can move, unseen_, Legolas thought. _I have lost sight and sound of Eldarion, but the trail should not be hard to follow_. He stood slowly, biting down a groan at the ache in his left side. He needed to make a sling for his arm so as not to upset the broken collarbone, but the only material he had on him was his blood-spattered tunic and undershirt. He could not even rip a piece off with one hand, and his left was unusable. Sighing, Legolas opened the top of his tunic as much as he could and rested his left wrist in the V that the neckline provided, hoping that it would be enough to support the arm until he could get help. 

Legolas knew he wanted to follow Eldarion, but reason made him pause. He was injured, weaponless, and alone. Should he be attacked again, he doubted he would come out the victor. However, to turn back to Gondor would admit defeat, and possibly the loss of Gondor's only prince. _I shall keep going_, Legolas decided. He had faith that his elvish healing abilities would aid him in recovering quickly. He would not catch up with the riders today, but at least he could walk in the same direction they were headed.

_tbc…_

Translations: (All Elvish is Sindarin)

_saes togtiriths : _please bring guards__

_Im gosta: _I am afraid [lit. I have dread]__

_Sîdh roch mellon: _Peace horse friend

Thanks Reviewers:

**Niani**: Sorry my definition of soon seems to be as vague as Gimli would accuse the elves' of being! Here it is though, and I don't think this is a cliffhanger. J

**Faer**: Nope, not this time, but I don't even know what's happening in chapter 7, let alone later. J

**Gemstone**: Good idea. I'll keep it in mind. J

**Cantora Eldhwen**: Thanks for the encouragement and the suggestions. I went back through this chapter looking specifically for bad Middle-Earth language. J__


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